A Good ol' Weekend (TW: Sibling abuse, Violence, Physical and Emotional Abuse, Manipulation)

So, I've never written a blog post on here before, so I'm not one-hundred percent sure on the etiquette. I read the blog rules, but I'm still not sure if this counts as "sharing" abuse or violence. If it does violate the TOS, please let me know and I'll remove it.

So for awhile, I've been wanting to write something on here, but I always felt like there was nothing eventful or interesting going on in my life. But two days ago, something actually happened so here I am. 

But first I need to give you some context.

I'm a 25 year old trans woman who grew up in Bradenton FL. I lived with my mom, my dad and my two brothers. I had an older brother, and a younger brother. Despite being the middle child, I was the smallest of the three of us.  My older brother always had this calm and relaxed demeanor about him, my younger brother... not so much. He was an angry child. 

My earliest years are plagued with the memories, of him being physically violent with me. Chasing me, hitting me, and scratching me until I bled. However, it wasn't until after my parent's divorce, and my younger brother and I moving to Virginia to live with my grandparents that things began to escalate. My grandparents are not good people. My grandma was an emotionally abusive narcissist and my grandpa; a physically abusive, ex-military hard ass. Both are devote Roman Catholics.

For some ungodly reason, I was my grandparent's favorite. This didn't mean they didn't treat me like shit, but how they treated my younger brother was much, much worse. My grandpa was the worst, often choking my brother, pushing him down stairs, you name it. I felt bad for my brother, I didn't understand why they favored me. I thought of everything I could to try and help him, I gave him advice on how to behave, and where to hide when an argument broke out. None of it worked of course, because my grandparents weren't targeting him for any logical reason. There was nothing he could do to make them stop. I am certain it was Hell for him there.

It didn't take long before my brother started taking it out on me. He resented the fact they they treated me better than him. He resented me for it. Even though I had no idea why. In late Elementary school, through Middle school and into High school, my brother beat the ever-living shit out of me. He's smashed my head into windows, he's choked me until I nearly blacked out, he's kicked my head into windows, and threatened me with knives. I am scared of him.

By High school, he was pretty heavy into drugs and was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. It was also by this point, that my brother and I couldn't take living in Virginia anymore and fled to live with my mom in Maryland. Things calmed down to a degree, living with my mom. My mom; hearing what happened to my brother, understandably felt bad for him. My mom began to spoil him, in an attempt to make things up to him. She felt guilty and blamed herself for what happened. 

While calmer, the violence didn't stop completely. After a heated argument between the two of us. He chased me into my room, and began to pull my hair and punch me. I remember feeling terrified. Every time he attacked me, it could have been my last day on Earth. Intentionally or otherwise. But it was that fight, that for some reason a spark of courage lit up. I stood up and put as much weight as I could onto his right side, while tripping his legs. We both tumbled to the ground. For the first time in my life, I stood up to him. 

I felt good. But the moment didn't last long. It was that moment, that my mom came in. She saw me on top of him, and began to berate the both of us. 

Years of trauma therapy later, I've tried to explain all of this to my mom. That it was my brother who was my abuser. 

However, no matter what I said she always used the same line to dismiss me, "It was you who was on top, when I came in." She's also told me straight to my face that what I faced wasn't abuse, it was simply "bullying."

 I stopped sharing how I felt with my mom after that. She still asks me why I don't talk to her about what I'm feeling anymore. 

One day, after my mom had a heated argument with my brother, he preceded to punch her in the face and breaking her tooth. He was taken to a mental health clinic, but ultimately was left off the hook because at the time he was a minor. I was certain that it was this moment, my mom was going to understand who my brother was. I was wrong. Sure, she was mad at him, but she eventually forgave him, and quickly went back to spoiling him. He was her "puppy" after all, I was shocked. After my brother came back home, it took some time, but life fell back into its usual patterns. 

After that incident, I didn't talk to him for a month. Sadly, it was my mom who convinced me to start talking to him again. Although, I did make it clear that if something like that ever happened again, I was never going to speak to him. Ever.

Fast forward a few years and by this point I am now 25 years old. I live on the other side of the country away from my shitty family, with my fantastic partner of 5 years and my cat Jiji. I went to collage for a year but I had to quit and started to work full time, things have been generally looking up. I'm still in therapy, though.

So all of the context is out of the way now, all of this led up to two days ago.

I got a call from my mom on the phone. 

Turns out she was in the hospital with a broken rib. 

My brother still lived with my mom, he'd gotten worse. He'd become an unsufferable spoiled brat. An argument broke out between him and my mom, over a pack of fucking cigarettes. It was so stupid, it never, EVER should have ended this way. My brother threw his lighter at my mom, it shattered against her neck. She shoved him, causing him to stumble. He then regained his footing and shoved her back. 

My mom is not a heavy person. Like me, she is petite and easy to knock over. Combined with my brother's strength, she went flying. She slammed into the sliding glass door, and smashed her rib into a metal railing. 

While laying on the floor, she cried out in pain, that he broke her rib. My brother only said, "good" in response, looking down at her. She eventually managed to crawl away from him into her room and called the police. 

My mom is filing a restraining order and he will no longer be able to contact her.

My brother got to sit in jail, for assault.

But once again, he got to slide away easily. My stupid fucking uncle, paid his bail and is letting him sleep in his car. The most fucked up part? My uncle blames my mom. He called her cold, for forcing him to sleep on the street.

My brother is also a masterclass manipulator. I know him. He learned this from my emotionally abusive grandma. He knows how to twist, and lie in order to get what he wants. He's even bragged to me about it.

Yesterday, he called me. I hesitated, but I picked up. He began to tell me "his side" of the story. I didn't say anything about already knowing, because I wanted to see what parts he'd conveniently leave out. Needless to say, he immediately began setting it up so that he was the victim and that my mom ruthlessly attacked first.

I then called him out on leaving info out, and of course he stammered because I caught him off guard. He then preceded to say, "I'm not trying to get you on my side." 

Because he fucking knows what he's doing. I then berated him, telling him that what he had to say didn't matter. That no excuse, permitted breaking your own mother's rib. Unless she pointed a weapon at him, I didn't want to hear it.

He tried so hard to excuse all of it. To make it sound like it wasn't as bad as it was. The shattered lighter? According to him, it was an "underhanded toss." 

(My ass. I know you dude, you don't underhand anything when you're angry. Try this shit on someone else. I know your tricks.)

Eventually, he said he had to go and that he'd call me back.

He still hasn't called me back. Coward.